


Senses

by Fruipit



Category: Wicked RPF
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Romance, Sad, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruipit/pseuds/Fruipit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There would always be five moments that Kristin would revisit. Five moments that, years after they happened, she’d look back on and smile and weep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caliax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caliax/gifts).



> happy birthday cali! not my best because you dID NOT GIVE ME TIME TO WORK IT but I hope you like it anyway.

There would always be five moments that Kristin would revisit. Five moments that, years after they happened, she’d look back on and smile and weep.

The first was a sound. A sweet, _strong_ , perfectly-hit note, not two minutes after it had been shot for and missed. The woman who’d sung it frowned, and demanded the pianist play the last sixteen-or-so bars.

She didn’t miss the second time. Her voice, her attitude. It was _perfect_.

“Her, Joe. I want her to be my Elphaba.”

That should have been the first clue, really.

The second was a look. An innocuous little look, accompanied by a smile.

They’d been working together for months, knew every cue and every block. Knew each other, too. Kristin knew how Idina’s voice shook, sometimes, when she was sad or tired. Idina knew that she barely slept at all. They knew every twitch: every curl of a lip or bat of an eye.

Kristin didn’t know this smile. Didn’t realise, not until it was too late.

The third was a smell. They’d gotten lost in the colour of New York, spending time together that didn’t mean work. The storm had set in hard and fast, and they’d been caught in it. Too far from home, and the roads too busy to find solace in a taxi, they’d huddled in a cafe to wait it out.

The building smelled of coffee, of course; vanilla and caramel made the air sweet, and the roasting beans made it thick. They’d ordered a drink, and Kristin had taken a seat in a booth. Idina had followed her.

They sat next to each other, damp and shivering. They didn’t speak, and when Idina’s hand found her way into Kristin’s, the silence reigned, comfortable.

When the storm stopped, they began to move again. Idina walked Kristin home, and before she left, pulled her into a hug that was so tight it felt like it could break her.

Every other time it rained, and the smell of petrichor filled her head, Kristin would be transported to that moment, and that hug.

The fourth was a taste. It was a taste of an appetizer that turned into a five-course meal. It was a hug that met with a brushing cheek, to lips touching the corner of her mouth.

It was a tilt of the head that had them kissing, Idina leaning down, tongue swirling about her mouth as Kristin drank in the warmth and breath of the woman above her. She stood on tippy-toes, hands tugging through Idina’s hair as she pulled the woman closer. They stumbled to the bed, and before the end of the night, Kristin had tasted so much more than she ever thought she would. She didn’t regret it at all.

The fifth moment – the last moment – is a touch. It isn’t anything special, in the grand scheme of things. A hand held, and words that mean so much more than they should, breaks her character and her heart, and she doesn’t hold it together after that.

It may have been a look that first sent her spiralling, but it was that final touch that destroyed her.


End file.
